


The Hatchet in My Hands

by imtelevisionsmoirarose



Series: The Commonplace Book [3]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, David Rose is a Good Person, David Rose is a Nice Person, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, Patrick Brewer is a Button, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Post-Canon, Rosehill Cottage, Sebastien Raine is an Asshole, tw: mention of domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29608875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imtelevisionsmoirarose/pseuds/imtelevisionsmoirarose
Summary: A couple years post-canon, David is contacted by Sebastien Raine with an opportunity for the apothecary. Patrick's urge to protect him grapples with his desire to let David heal.________________Writing referenced in this installation of the Commonplace Book is a quote from fabulous poet and performer Brenna Twohy.Content warning: mention of domestic violence
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose, Patrick Brewer & Alexis Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: The Commonplace Book [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153289
Comments: 45
Kudos: 184





	The Hatchet in My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This was another ficlet that popped into my head late a couple nights ago and it wouldn't leave me alone until I spit it out. I'd wanted to do a follow up after my first fic referenced the nature of David and Sebastien's relationship and this felt organic to me.
> 
> Read more about [keeping a commonplace book here](https://notebookofghosts.com/2018/02/25/a-brief-guide-to-keeping-a-commonplace-book/)
> 
> Come say hi at im-televisions-moira-rose.tumblr.com :) I love meeting new friends in this fandom!

**Patrick Brewer's Commonplace Book, Volume 4, Page 143**

Forgiveness means  
I did not bury the hatchet.  
I have the hatchet in my hands.  
I am building myself a new house.

— **Brenna Twohy**

* * *

One year, nine months and five days after they get married, David brings him up.

Patrick is standing in front of the sink in the kitchen, washing and hulling the strawberries they bought that morning at the farmer’s market, every so often offering one to a grateful David who is perched on the marble countertop next to him, legs swinging absentmindedly.

“So.” David chirps, looking apprehensive. Patrick feels his shoulders tense.

“So?” He responds carefully, taking a break from hulling to meet David’s eyes.

“So I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for a couple weeks but I know you’re…you’re not going like it.” David's voice is deceptively airy. Patrick looks back down at the spoon and the fruit in his hands and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever is about to come next.

“This preamble is not promising, David.” He says, unleashing his anticipation on the stem of a particularly large berry.

“Okay. Okay, okay.” David shakes his head and begins again. “So.” He clears his throat. “A couple of weeks ago I got an email from…Sebastien.”

Patrick hands still; his blood runs hot at the name and he can feel pressure building in his chest. David is watching him carefully so he controls his face but can see that his knuckles are white from how hard he’s clenching the spoon.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He responds, his voice measured and even but dangerously calm, still not looking at David. “I don’t like this at all.”

“Mhm. Yep. I know.” David plucks a freshly hulled berry from the colander and pops it in his mouth nervously. He’s shame-eating and Patrick's heart hums with fondness but he can’t let it distract him.

“According to what he says, he just got out of another stint in rehab and decided he wanted to _make amends_.” David rolls his eyes and waves a hand as he commandeers another piece of fruit. Patrick’s chest is buzzing with indignation. David continues.

“And I guess he’s been doing some photography for Vanity Fair recently. Apparently he’s working with the assistant editor to put together a collection of profiles of small, minority-owned businesses with good online presence for their November issue, and he was interested in featuring us. He wanted it to be like...an olive branch, I guess, for everything.”

Patrick can’t help himself and he chokes out a bitter laugh. He can feel David tense. _Everything_.

“Don’t say ‘olive branch’ when you’re talking about him. I don’t want that ruined.”

David hums, his eyes fixed worriedly on the side of Patrick’s face.

“Okay. He wants to _bury the hatchet_ , then.” David grabs Patrick’s wrist which has stopped sorting through the berries and is gripping the edge of the sink. “And normally I’d totally say no but _it’s Vanity Fair_ , Patrick. Imagine how much exposure that could bring the store.”

Patrick has just a vague idea of what Vanity Fair is but he can feel the hope and excitement in David’s voice and it hurts him to even think about taking that away.

“David.” Patrick wets his lips, holding the edge of the sink tighter, head tilted down. “He _hit_ you. He’s a _domestic abuser_. That’s not a hatchet you bury.”

He feels his throat tightening and he wills himself not to cry, lifting his head to look out the window above the sink into their backyard. He wants to be David’s shoulders, to carry this for him, but he’s too angry. There aren’t many things that bother Patrick like this, but that’s because there isn’t anything that matters to Patrick the way David does; Patrick is just a drop but David is the entire ocean, surrounding him, making him home.

“I know, honey. I know it’s not.” David’s voice has lost its eager timbre and Patrick’s heart sinks. David’s hand on his wrist tightens.

“I just thought it might be a way for me to actually get something positive out of ever knowing him. A lot of people from the magazine would be here too—I already checked—so there’d be a buffer. _And_ Alexis already said she’d fly in to be here as our rep so you know she will _handle_ him.”

He clears his throat and out of the corner of his eye, Patrick sees David tilt his head up at the ceiling the way he sometimes does before he starts to cry. His voice is thick when he speaks again and Patrick wants to hold him.

“Also, I just. I really want him to know that, um, that I won. That I’m not a victim anymore. And that I’m definitely not _his_ victim. And that this life I’ve made here with you in the last four incredible years is infinitely better than all the mediocre photos he will ever take combined.”

Patrick nods as he feels a single hot tear spill over his eyelashes, falling down his cheek and onto his oxford, its splash turning the fabric a darker shade of blue. He bites his lower lip to keep it from shaking, clenching his jaw. David’s hand moves from his wrist to his fingers, pulling them off the sink to intertwine with his and then David snort sobs and they both break into wet laughter.

“If you really love me, you will say nothing.” He threatens, wiping at his eyes with his other hand, but he is smiling tearily.

“Okay, David. It’s just—you can borrow my nose thing tonight, if you want.”

Another wet snort laugh.

Another snuck strawberry.

Another beautiful way David wounds him.

* * *

Sebastien flies in three weeks later with an entire entourage of Vanity Fair writers, creatives and assistants and it is much easier to avoid any extended alone time with him than Patrick previously had worried. He stays at the motel and Stevie promises Patrick that she’ll put him in the room with the shittiest bed because, well, she’s Stevie and she’s amazing. Alexis flies in too, like she promised, and Patrick is unusually calmed by her presence; it’s nice to know that he has backup, especially in the form of his gregarious sister-in-law. The first night she is in Schitt’s Creek, they plot caretaking and damage control strategies in the guest bedroom after David falls asleep on the couch during _The Lake House_. The whole Vanity Fair team is there for 4 days and over those 4 days, Patrick and David only have to see Sebastien for a total of 6 hours, which is acceptable.

They don’t even really say much to each other directly—it’s generally passed between them by an assistant or a writer. Patrick is satisfied when Sebastien never touches David, never tries to manipulate his body in any way. He approves of the tone with which Sebastien addresses them both and the fact that he never tries to make a joke about Schitt’s Creek, never says anything that off-color at all; he’s actually rather quiet most of the time. Patrick makes it clear with Sebastien’s assistant that any considered shots must be, with no excuses, approved by David first before they are run by anyone else, and that if Sebastien has a problem with that, to let him know. Sebastien doesn’t have a problem.

The shots of him and David are really lovely—frame worthy—and the first draft of their profile looks great. David gets very specific about the language the writer uses to describe the store and Patrick can’t help but think about that first day at Ray’s, and he smiles. David beams at Patrick when the writer asks how they met and he gets to relive it all over again. Everyone gets a little soft-eyed about their story and one of the girls even cries when David talks about the way they ended up buying Rosehill.

On the fourth day, they all meet at the store to go over the general layout of their spread just before Alexis and the VF team have to leave for the airport. They’re huddled around a laptop, looking over the final images one more time when David notices some of the product shots are missing.

“Shit.” Sebastien, in the background, rifles through one of his several camera bags. “I actually left that jump drive at the motel. I’ll run back and get it.”

Patrick’s brain hums.

“Wait, Sebastien,” He hears himself say, rubbing David’s back with a firm hand. Alexis simpers nervously. “I’ll drive you.”

* * *

The humming in his head is painfully loud as they both step into his sedan and he starts the engine.

He tries hard not to think about how the relatively withdrawn stranger in the seat next to him has been inside of and has also put his hands on David. They sit in silence because Patrick doesn’t trust himself to say more.

At a stop sign, Sebastien clears his throat.

“I am really glad we were able to do this with you guys. It’ll be great to get the store some international exposure—the brand has this beautiful, pastoral authenticity to it.”

Patrick nods his head a fraction of an inch, shifting slightly in his seat.

“Yeah. Um. Thanks.”

He can feel Sebastien’s eyes on him.

“And thank _you_ for letting me come and do this. If I were you, I would never have allowed it.”

Patrick shakes his head and turns to meet Sebastien’s gaze, eyes dark and face illegible.

“Oh. No. I absolutely didn’t want you to come. But it was David’s choice. And I respect him.”

Sebastien raises his eyebrows and turns his head back towards the road.

“That’s very big of you. David’s lucky—he can be quite the, uh, _handful_ , as I’m sure you’re aware.” He scoffs, shaking his head.

The breath catches angrily in Patrick’s throat and cold fury douses the pit of his stomach; _He’s so nonchalant as he attacks David’s character, like he’s been doing it for years_. Patrick feels sick as they roll into the parking lot at the motel and when Sebastien moves to get out of the car, he puts a hand on his forearm and pulls him back down.

“Hey. Listen.” Patrick’s voice is low and dangerously controlled and his grip is firm.

“I never wanted to have you here. I never wanted to meet you and after this I will be happy if I never see, think of or remember your face again. But here you are because I love and respect my husband.”

He clenches and unclenches a fist, taking a second to breathe before continuing.

”I know that you hurt him. And I think you’re a miserable piece of shit and a coward for it. And I _know_ you’re an addict and I _know_ you’re trying to change now but god damnit I am still allowed to hate you for what you did.”

Patrick feels his face burn as he continues.

“David went through the hell that is you and then lost everything he had and still somehow became the strongest, most authentic person I’ve ever known. So please—out of whatever modicum of respect you might have for my husband—never contact him again.” He meets Sebastien’s eyes. “Let him be finished with this; stop twisting the knife.”

Sebastien actually looks surprised, but he nods as he stands up, raising his hands in surrender.

“Hey. I get it. I respect that. We have to protect our delicate flowers, man, or they can never blossom.”

Patrick is blown away by how completely he is still missing the point and he shakes his head to himself.

“Thank you for everything, Pat. I’ll have my assistant bring my equipment back from the store with her.”

_We are not doing Pat._

“Warmest regards.” Patrick mutters, rolling up the window and reversing out of the spot before Sebastien has a chance to move. He clenches his jaw as the adrenaline courses through him.

He needs to get back to David. Now. 

* * *

When Patrick returns, David's leaning against the counter, drinking coffee with Alexis and a couple of the Vanity Fair girls, undoubtedly buttering them up with complimentary product. He feels Alexis watching him, eyes wide.

“Hi, honey.” David recognizes the look on Patrick’s face immediately and blushes as he kisses his cheek, squeezing his arm lightly. “Um. Where’s Sebastien?”

“Oh. Yeah. He, um, he wasn’t feeling well. He wants to get some rest before the flight so he asked you guys to bring his stuff back down to the motel.” Patrick gestures at a few of the girls and then stutters and clears his throat. His whole body is on fire; his hands are actually shaking. 

“But hey, um, we have a minor emergency back at the cottage. Is there any way that we can just tie up the rest of these ends over email?”

David’s body is humming against his. Sebastien’s assistant expresses her concerns about the fake emergency and says sure and it takes another 20 minutes to get everyone out the door in front of them. Alexis gives a knowing look as she passes Patrick, booping his nose gently, suitcase and bag in tow.

“It was so good to see you, button.”

“You too, Alexis.”

He flashes soft eyes at her, silently grateful. Alexis may be occasionally flighty but she is a warrior for her brother and he’s so thankful for that.

Once they've locked up and they finally make it to the car, Patrick pushes David up against it, pinning him softly with his hips.

“I’m proud of you.” He murmurs in his husband's ear, their bodies flush. “I’m _so_ proud of you.”

He pulls back and David blushes and Patrick wants to eat him alive.

* * *

When they get home, they don’t make it to the bedroom; they barely make it through the front door, collapsing against each other in the foyer—a frenetic mess of hands and mouths and tongues and skin. 

Patrick doesn’t remember getting undressed, but he’s naked and he’s on his knees between David’s thighs on the entryway runner, David spread out beneath him like the night sky, every freckle and goosebump a star. As his body opens for Patrick, they become the moon; David feels as beautiful and as bright and as difficult to capture.

They fall against each other over and over in the quiet of the afternoon and David thanks Patrick again and again with his mouth and with the curve of his spine. In a few years, David will be completely new—something that Sebastien has never touched, but until then Patrick’s body will earnestly continue to remind him that he is the reason for the tides.


End file.
